


Survival from the Heart of Suffering

by Caiti (Caitriona_3)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Cameos, F/M, Master/Slave, Relationships listed are master-slave relationships, Slavery, Slavery is NOT by choice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/pseuds/Caiti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger had once been called the cleverest witch of her age. Her life since the end of the war proved them right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival from the Heart of Suffering

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ community - HP Owned - Summer of Slaves fest -- prompt: The slave is told to wear his/her collar in public. How people react to it, and how embarrassed he/she feels.

"Should I match or contrast with you today?" Hermione Paellex, née Granger, called out as she perused her closet. She started as a hand swept her hair to one side, but melted back as lips brushed across her shoulder. "We-" Her voice stuttered to a stop as the wicked mouth moved to suck at her pulse point. "Stop that," she murmured weakly. "We’ll be late."  
  
A low chuckle reached her ears before teeth nipped her skin. "You don’t sound very convincing," Lucius Malfoy breathed in her ear as his arms circled her waist. His hands stroked her bare midriff and she let her head fall back to his shoulder.  
  
"I don’t want to be convincing," she admitted. She shivered as his hands began drifting upwards. "We can’t."  
  
"I know, " he acquiesced. He stepped back, but gave her a slight smile as she threw a pout over her shoulder. "Be good now."  
  
"You started it," she protested.  
  
"And I’m finishing it," he told her as he tugged on a lock of her hair. His cool gray eyes skimmed over her clothes as he moved around to her side. "It is the Day of Triumph," he reminded her. "The conquerors have been commanded to flaunt our property."  
  
She gave a shrug. "I wear my collar every day anyway."  
  
"I know," he acknowledged. "I intend to flaunt you a little differently." Her eyebrow rose and he pinched her chin. "No, I do not plan to march you naked through the streets." An arrogant smile spread across his lips. "Our instructions were to dress you as befits your status in our household. I want them to know you are mine by your own choice, and only your poor birthright holds you down."  
  
Hermione’s lips curved in a crafty smile even as a fierce light began to burn in her eyes. She reached out and plucked out a deceptively simple looking white dress. “This number then?” She held it up to herself as she turned to face him. It was one of her favorites. The plain white dress seemed so bare and unadorned at first glance, just a simple sleeveless number, but when she stepped into sunlight, moonlight, or candlelight, the crystals embedded within the weave would appear to catch fire.  
  
“An excellent choice,” he agreed. “Let them see the bold, fierce Gryffindor who becomes a kitten in my hands.”  
  
She giggled before moving away to finish dressing. “So will everyone be out and about today?”  
  
“Yes,” he confirmed. “We are under strict orders. _All_ chattel capable of moving must be taken into the streets today and be put on display.” He leaned against the wall and watched her slip into the dress. She turned slowly in place and his eyes narrowed. “Style your hair up. It will make the red of the collar easier to see.” He rubbed his chin. “I think we shall use the leash today. I want the surrender as blatant as possible.”  
  
“Of course,” she said immediately. She moved to the mirror and began using her wand to change her hairstyle.  
  
He stepped up behind her with a long silver chain. Emeralds flashed in the light as he drew the thin metal rope through his hands. She bowed her head and he fused the leash into place with his wand. “Come along now, _ma lionne_. One does not keep the Dark Lord waiting, and we must still gather up your pet werewolf.”  
  
“I thought you appreciated his work?” she linked her arm with his.  
  
“I do, actually,” Lucius admitted with a wry twist of his lips. “It is meticulously handled. It is simply the very _concept_ of letting _him_ work in my home…” He voice trailed off as he shook his head before giving her a half-hearted glare. “I think you have been a bad influence.”  
  
“Nonsense,” she said airily. “You are raking in Galleons hand over fist, and your status has never been higher with the Dark Lord.” She pulled him to a stop as they reached the foyer. Her free hand came up and traced his jawline. “Am I really so bad?” She peered up at him through modestly lowered lashes.  
  
He tilted her face up and leaned down to capture her lips in a brief, intense kiss. “ _Ma petite coquette_ , you are _very_ bad.” They indulged in another deep kiss before he pulled away. “We will finish this discussion later.”  
  
“Of course,” she demurred.  
  
He gave her a sardonic look at her self-effacing tone, but refrained from any further comment. Instead he turned and gestured at the figure waiting by the front door. Remus Scriba (née Lupin) stepped out of the shadows and gave a deep bow, his purple collar clear against the pale skin of his neck. Hermione examined him as Lucius took a moment to insure the security of the manor. He looked healthier than he had for years; regular food, shelter, and work would do that. His robes were plain and simple, fit for a clerical slave, but they were new, not tattered second hand things. She exchanged a quick glance with him before Lucius returned from setting the alarms.  
  
“Come now,” Lucius ordered. “We are due at Hogwarts for the opening of the festivities.”  
  
The three of them Apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade and joined the throng of visitors streaming towards the former school. Bright colors and lively chatter filled the air. Everyone seemed determine to show their fervent support of Lord Voldemort today. The citizens chattered and laughed as they meandered along the path, but one could always tell when a Death Eater walked past. Voices would drop, either from fear or respect, until the Dark Lord’s chosen moved away. The most powerful among the elite could be assured an easy passage as the crowd’s parted before them.  
  
Hermione strolled along at Lucius’ side, her expression drifting between bland and haughty depending upon her audience. She received a mixed bag of looks from the people she passed – respect, disdain, anger, understanding, even fear. No one dared to speak however; anything said about her would reflect on Lucius, and no one wanted to gain _his_ wrath. Lucius Malfoy currently reigned as the most powerful Death Eater after his actions saved the life of the Dark Lord’s favorite.  
  
Speaking of whom…  
  
“Bellatrix,” Lucius acknowledged his fellow Death Eater as they met on the final leg of the journey.  
  
“Lucius,” the dark-haired witch nodded. Her half-mad, but cunning gaze moved to Hermione, who dipped in a small curtsey. Bellatrix deigned to incline her head in response. “I see your Paellex is doing well.”  
  
“Indeed,” he agreed before turning a cold gaze on the yellow-collared slave crouched at Bellatrix’s feet. “Your Cruciare is not looking so well though.”  
  
“Ah,” she waved him off. “The boy will learn eventually.” Then she shrugged. “Or he will be as mad as his parents were. No matter.”  
  
The two Death Eaters laughed while Hermione glanced down to meet the gaze of Neville Cruciare, whom she had been friends with when he was still Neville Longbottom. Neville flushed, curling slightly in an attempt to shield his mostly nude form. Pure hatred flared up, drowning the embarrassment, and he bared his teeth at her. Bellatrix backhanded him, knocking him into the dirt. “Behave, _caenum_!” She looked at Lucius. “I will see him punished for his insult.”  
  
Lucius inclined his head. “I have no doubt.” He ran the back of his fingers along Hermione’s cheek. “Do you want to watch, _ma précieuse_?” She shook her head. “Let us go along then and leave Bella to her work.”  
  
As they stepped away, Hermione could hear Bellatrix growling at the cowering Neville. “You think to embarrass me in front of the others, _stulte_?”  
  
They had not moved more than twenty feet or so when they heard him begin to scream.  
  
Hermione’s hand trembled where it rested on Lucius’ wrist. He glanced down at her and approval flickered in his eyes. “Such a steady, stoic face you keep,” he smiled. “Narcissa could never quite accomplish it.” He patted her hand as she shot him an unhappy look. “No reason to be jealous,” he chided with a little tug on her leash.  
  
She gave a sigh but smiled at him. “It’s foolish, I suppose,” she agreed.  
  
“She is only a memory,” he assured her as they entered the front gate. “A ghost.”  
  
They moved past the crowd of people loitering in the courtyard. Lucius swept them into the Great Hall. The old school tables were gone and the room seemed larger than ever. Whispers echoed as they walked towards the opposite end where a large throne-like chair dominated. It stood upon a raised platform, and Lord Voldemort lounged there arrogantly, watching his sycophants cluster and murmur at the edges of the room.  
  
Lucius led his small party to the base of the platform. He gave a low bow as Hermione and Remus kneeled behind him. “My lord.”  
  
“Lucius,” Voldemort replied. “How good of you to join us in our little celebration.” His voice held a sibilant, hypnotizing quality.  
  
“I would not have missed it, my lord,” Lucius assured him.  
  
“No,” Voldemort agreed. “I suppose not.” He paused. “Let the wolf stay where he is for the moment, but I insist on being introduced to your little Paellex.”  
  
“Of course, my lord,” Lucius conceded at once. He gave a sharp tug on the leash and Hermione rose to her feet. She kept her head down, eyes on the floor.  
  
“Such a wonderful reaction,” Voldemort said approvingly. “She is well-trained. I commend you, Lucius.”  
  
“Thank you, my lord,” Lucius bowed.  
  
“Now, little Paellex, look at me,” Voldemort ordered. Hermione lifted her eyes, focusing only upon him, careful to ignore the two young men at his feet. He smiled. “Yes, yes, you have learned your place remarkably well. Perhaps I should seek tips from your master for my chattel. Their training is going disappointingly slow.” He turned to Lucius. “The seat on my left hand is for you to honor your work and sacrifices on my behalf. Hermione and your Scriba may join you.” Hermione’s eyes opened wide as he used her name. He gave her a gentle smile. “I am not an evil man, little one. I am willing to reward faithful service. Lucius has remained faithful to me, and his efforts on my behalf have been great indeed.” He reached out and traced her cheek. “As long as you show such faithfulness to him, I can be quite generous.”  
  
Hermione knelt, but remained silent.  
  
Voldemort chortled. “Lucius, Lucius, if I did not appreciate your service to me so much, I would steal this treasure from you. Go, take your seat.”  
  
“My lord,” Lucius bowed once more. He moved towards Voldemort’s left, trusting Hermione and Remus to follow him properly without needing an order. They did so. Lucius turned with a swirl and took his seat with haughty boredom. He flicked his left hand and Remus moved to stand in the shadows behind him on the left. Hermione moved to sit on the floor beside his feet.  
  
Voldemort’s voice interrupted her. “A moment, Hermione.” She stopped and turned her eyes to him. He snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared with a cushioned stool. He placed it next to Lucius’ chair. Voldemort waved his hand. “Be seated.”  
  
She dipped in a curtsey before perching on the stool. Although Lucius began playing with a lock of her hair, she kept her eyes on Voldemort until he turned away. Then she turned a wide-eyed gaze on Lucius. Confusion swirled deep within his cool gaze, but she doubted many people could read it. He gave a gentle tug on her hair. They would find out when Voldemort was ready.  
  
The room continued to fill with those invited to the private reception. Hermione let her eyes wander the room, picking out people she knew and those Lucius warned her about. Bellatrix entered with Neville trailing behind her. Hermione did not meet his eyes again. Instead she took the moment to look at the men sitting on the floor at Voldemort’s feet. She could only see the one from this angle.  
  
Pale blond hair, pale skin, citizen’s robes, and a white collar…it was Draco. Her eyes sought Lucius once more, and now she could read the deeply buried pain in his expression. She rubbed her cheek along the back of his hand. A tiny smile touched his lips and he ran his thumb over her jawline. Furious gray eyes caught her attention as she turned back. Draco’s glare struck her harder than the others because he looked so much like Lucius. She forced herself to do nothing more than raise one cool eyebrow. Suddenly he grimaced and turned back to face the room. That’s when she spotted the thick chain binding him to Voldemort’s chair. Voldemort’s comments on _his_ chattel came back to her. One corner of her mouth twitched – Draco never could grovel, even when it was the safer option. The loss of his name should have taught him. If he did not learn as a Tiro, he would never use the Malfoy name again.  
  
She curled in closer to Lucius and rested her head against the arm of his chair as he played with her hair. The trickle of guests began to slow and finally ceased. Voldemort gestured and the candles of the Great Hall burst into life. He straightened in his chair.  
  
“My guests,” his sibilate voice reached every ear. “I welcome you to the festivities of the Day of Triumph. Two years have already passed since my destined victory over the boy hero Potter. It seems such a short time, but then I look at all we have accomplished and even I am amazed at the rebounding vitality of our world. Did I not promise a better world than one run by the inept Ministry and hampered by an insipid morality?” He paused to allow everyone to applaud and cheer. One wave hushed the room immediately. “We now have a strong, hierarchical society where the strong rule and where the weak or unfit know their place. Every day, our world grows more stable as people learn the value of our new order.” Another pause met more acclamation. “Look around you as you enjoy the celebrations today. See how well our new system is working. Even the chattel and lowborn are here to honor this day.”  
  
He leaned forward. “I have been called an evil man.” He shrugged as people shouted denials. “Visionaries and men of power are always scoffed at by the uneducated and the foolish. I care little. You will see the truth and the rightness in my actions when you walk through the courtyards and countryside of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Wizarding children grow strong and happy, supported by those who are less worthy. Our future is secured by our control of the lower beings, but I challenge you to consider the chattel as you wander. I have not been prejudiced in my judgments. Yes,” he acknowledged, “most of the chattel are made up of mudbloods and half-bloods, but you will see a goodly number of pure bloods as well.”  
  
“I will lead my order to power and victory over all who would oppose us.” He rose to his feet. Lucius and Bellatrix stood as well. “My elite, headed by my lovely Bella and my faithful Lucius, will grind our enemies beneath their feet or bring them to me in chains. Never again will our world be run by idiots and weaklings who would dilute the power we hold by right.”  
  
The room erupted in cheering and thunderous applause. Voldemort sank back to his seat and let them fuss. A smile played around his mouth even as his eyes turned scornful. Finally he raised his hand and gestured for silence. “Go now,” he order. “Go and enjoy the many attractions available. I trust I will see you all at the Coliseum this afternoon for the Games.” People started to speak, but he waved them off. “Go.”  
  
They streamed out, almost crushing one another in their haste. It took a long while, but finally only Voldemort, Bellatrix, Lucius, and their slaves remained. Voldemort sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “Such weak fools,” he muttered. The others remained silent until he looked up. “You are both free to go as well,” he told them. “I shall be in seclusion until the Games.”  
  
Lucius and Bellatrix bowed while their slaves knelt. Hermione managed one glance at the man on Voldemort’s other side and met dull green eyes. She could barely recognize him, but the shaved head left his lightning bolt scar in clear relief. The boy once known as Harry Potter, Voldemort’s enemy, had become Harry Canis, Voldemort’s pet. One look is all she got before she moved to follow Lucius from the hall. Behind her she could hear Voldemort speaking, though she could not make out the words. The doors closed behind them just as a scream began.  
  
“Baby boy Draco should learn his place,” Bellatrix tossed over her shoulder as she dragged Neville away.  
  
Lucius remained silent and still on the steps for several minutes. “The Dark Lord will kill him one day,” he noted in a steady voice.  
  
“But probably not today,” Hermione murmured as she touched his arm. “Come away from here. Let us see what surprises we can find.”  
  
He touched her chin. “A question first,” he said. She lifted her brows in question and he continued. “Why?” She frowned in confusion and he used his thumb to smooth out the frown lines. “Why do you freely obey? So many of the others have been forced or coerced into bowing down to us. You chose to; you surrendered without constraint. Why?”  
  
She closed her eyes and let out a long slow breath. “I wanted to survive,” she started, looking up to meet his gaze. “I’m not sure what I thought might happen, or how things might go, but when the battle turned against us, when it became clear we would lose…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “When we talked about the war, it had always been live or die, win or lose. No one ever talked about what would happen if we lost but didn’t die. I saw them – you – taking prisoners, and I realized something worse than death was possible. I could hear screaming from the edge of the battlefield, but it was different than before, and I knew…I knew…” Tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked them away quickly.  
  
He placed a finger on her lips. “There is no shame in wanting to survive.”  
  
“I watched,” she continued when he moved his hand. “I knew my best chance would be with one of his inner circle, especially you and Bellatrix. When Narcissa went down and the Auror’s next shot would kill you, I acted.”  
  
“And created the life debt that led to me claiming you in order to repay it,” he finished. She nodded. His eyes focused on hers, that intent gaze piercing into her. “And now?”  
  
“Now?” she repeated in a light tone. “Now you are the center of my life.” Her eyes grew serious, and yet vibrant all at the same time. “You are my master, yes, but it is no longer a choice of necessity, of fear. Freely, wholeheartedly, I simply choose _you_.”  
  
Cool silver burned molten as he looked at her. His face never shifted from the aloof mask, but she knew him now – his moods and his heart – and she could see the pleasure her admission brought him. He trailed one finger down her jawline before tilting his head towards the fair. “Shall we see if anything catches our fancy?”  
  
They spent a great deal of time wandering the fair with Remus following silently behind them. Laughter and gaiety overflowed as people perused the shops, tasted exotic foods, played games, or sampled some of the many services offered by the merchants. The field just outside of the small town had been transformed into a Wizarding marketplace. One entire row of tents provided every type of food and drink a person could possibly desire – foods from every corner of the globe and drinks of every flavor. The next row consisted of the gaming tents – everything from a petting zoo and playground for the little ones, Gobstones, Exploding Snap, and Wizard’s Chess. Several rows of tents made up the shopping area – enough to make Diagon Alley look primitive in comparison. The final few rows included the many services, such as a spa, massage parlor, rentals for brooms and clerics, an onsite healer’s tent, and even a discreet if unmistakable brothel.  
  
Voldemort wanted this day to be remembered and enjoyed. He wanted the people to know _who_ gave them such wonders.  
  
Hermione blinked as she spotted something unexpected at the slaver’s tent. There, just outside of it and chained to a short post in one of the cages, lay a half-starved shaggy black dog. She heard Remus catch his breath. Her eyes narrowed even as her hand tightened almost imperceptibly on Lucius’ arm. He glanced down at her with a raised eyebrow before following her gaze. A second blond eyebrow rose to match the first as he spotted the chained dog. “Interesting,” he noted calmly.  
  
“Please?” she asked in a soft pleading tone.  
  
He gave a sigh, glanced at the dog, and then turned back to her. “I know I promised you any gift you wanted today, but _this_?” he asked.  
  
A gentle, but stubborn light entered her eyes even as her voice grew more beseeching. “You did promise,” she reiterated. “Please?”  
  
“I am spoiling you,” he muttered even as he redirected their steps towards the slaver’s tent.  
  
The slaver stepped out immediately. “Lord Malfoy, may I help you?”  
  
“The dog,” Lucius gestured dismissively. “I wish to discuss a price.”  
  
“The dog, my lord?” the slaver asked, eyes sliding to the side. “He is…difficult. Perhaps I could interest you in-”  
  
“The dog,” Lucius repeated coldly, eyes and voice coated in disdain.  
  
“Of course, my lord,” the slaver agreed hastily, bowing in apology.  
  
As the two of them moved into a discussion over prices, Hermione drifted to the cage. The large black head lifted, pinning a dark gaze on her before those eyes shifted to the figure hovering behind her. Fur rippled as he shook.  
  
Hermione gave her surroundings a quick once over before fixing her eyes on the dog. “We’ll have you out shortly,” she told him, her voice whisper-soft. “Remus will take care of you until we can leave.” His lips pulled back slightly, but stopped as Remus stepped forward.  
  
“It’s the only way, Padfoot.” His voice, as soft as Hermione’s had been, shook. “The only way.” Padfoot heaved a sigh, but lowered his head in acceptance.  
  
Hermione drifted back to Lucius’ side as she heard the negotiations die away. He handed her a black leash of braided leather. “Happy Triumph Day,” he told her, one eyebrow flicking up in amusement.  
  
“Thank you,” she offered immediately. Without looking back, she held out the leash and felt it slipped easily from her hand. “Remus will see to him.”  
  
“Excellent,” Lucius commented, moving away from the tent and ignoring the bowing slaver. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they began to peruse the area once more. Her eyes noted other familiar faces as they wandered.  
  
 _Dean and Seamus both wearing the green collars of the Servus.  
  
Hannah bearing the white of the Tiro.  
  
Susan collared in the blue of the Meretrix.  
  
Terry wore the purple of the Scriba._  
  
Hermione’s face never faltered from its cool stoicism. She learned to survive and then to thrive in the new system. Defeat would never be pretty or welcome for the losers, and they would forever look at her with suspicion and disdain for her position. She, however, would keep her chin high. Thanks to her position, she had rescued or aided more than one witch or wizard, and could continue to do so. Maybe it wasn’t the free society they once dreamed of, but they had life and where there was life, there was hope.  
  
Still, despite that, a portion of her innermost heart twisted at some of the faces they passed.  
  
 _Luna, silent and shaky, bore the orange of the Periculum. Her once lively eyes merely rested on Hermione…the emptiness a testament to the horrors of the magical experiments she had undergone.  
  
Ginny, sly and bitter, wearing the blue of the Meretrix. She didn’t even bother to look at Hermione, just sidled up to Lucius, all her ‘wares’ on display and offered herself for the usual price.  
  
Ron, dark and disdainful, collared in the green of the Servus. He glanced at them briefly before simply standing behind his master, a solid form of muscle due to all the heavy labor._  
  
Hermione pushed the pain and pity into the darkest shadows of her mind. She could not help them. Upon his victory, Voldemort singled out Harry and his core group for particular regulations. There was to be no contact between Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, or Luna – ever.  
  
Only Hermione seemed to be thriving. She pushed that thought away as well. It had no place in her life.  
  
The bells rang out, summoning everyone to the Games. Voldemort enjoyed living as an Emperor, and took his example from the Caesars of Ancient Rome. The Coliseum was one example of that. Built along the lines of the arenas for Quidditch, it held thousands of witches and wizards and various sporting events would be held within it. The most popular were the duels – the Wizarding world’s version of the gladiator competitions of old. Sometimes the duels were between wizards, and sometimes a wizard would be pitted against various magical creatures. The participants tended to be rebels and criminals.  
  
It proved to be an excellent deterrent. Crime and active rebellion dropped sharply not long after the first Games.  
  
After leaving Remus and Padfoot at the general entrance, Hermione walked at Lucius side as they climbed to the Dark Lord’s private box. Voldemort lounged in a large, throne-like seat. Harry and Draco sat side-by-side on the steps of the throne’s platform. Bellatrix sat to the right of the platform with Neville collapsed at her feet. Two empty chairs waited to the left of Voldemort.  
  
“Lucius, Hermione,” Voldemort greeted genteelly. “Please sit.” Lucius bowed as Hermione moved to kneel. The Dark Lord held up a hand. “No, no, Hermione. A simple bow will suffice.”  
  
Her hand trembled as she obeyed before the two of them took their seats.  
  
The Games began with a grand parade of the duelers, criminals, and wild creatures. The crowd erupted in cheering as various criminals died, torn apart by Chimeras, Trolls, and Manticores. The duels put people into a wagering mood, and one screen devoted itself to the odds of each dueler. People cheered as their favorites drew ahead and booed as they fell behind. Everyone grew more and more festive as each act passed.  
  
At the midpoint of the Games, as Servus slaves came out to clear the floor of the Coliseum, Voldemort rose and lifted his arms for attention. Magical screens made sure every witch and wizard could see the box and its inhabitants clearly. A gracious but superior smile slid across Voldemort’s face. “As we await the second half of the Games, I wish to take a moment to publicly acknowledge and reward one of my most faithful lieutenants.” His head turned slightly to the left, and Hermione caught the flash of one red eye. “Lucius, step forward,” he ordered.  
  
Lucius rose and strode forward, “My lord?”  
  
“Lucius, you have proven to be one of the most faithful of my servants, and such faithfulness deserves a reward.”  
  
Hermione watched as Draco suddenly straightened, a sly smile starting to cross his lips. It was obvious that he expected to be his father’s reward. He expected to be set free. A different movement drew her attention to Bellatrix. The dark haired woman shook with repressed laughter and actually looked towards Hermione with a conspiratorial grin. Bellatrix rolled her eyes before turning a disdainful look on the Tiro seated at Voldemort’s feet.  
  
Voldemort continued. “Thanks to your work on my behalf, many of our new institutions flourish. Our world has once more become respected in the international Wizarding community. Most importantly of all, however, your actions prevented the loss of my faithful Bellatrix.”  
  
“My lord, I live to serve,” Lucius bowed once more.  
  
“Yes, as do all of my subjects,” Voldemort nodded with a sly smile. “You and your people, however, have proven the validity of our new lifestyle. Your chattel were once high in the ranks of our enemies, and yet now they serve without compulsion – by choice, no less.” His chin rose as he tilted his head in consideration. “I am aware of Hermione’s contribution to preventing Bella’s assassination, and I find it most gratifying to know you have brought one of the most dangerous of our foes into our service.” He gestured with his hand. “Hermione, take your place beside Lucius.”  
  
Her eyes wide with surprise, she moved to stand just behind Lucius’ right shoulder.  
  
Voldemort gave her a gentle smile. “I find myself unexpectedly impressed by your efforts to overcome the tragic circumstances of your birth. There are pure bloods who are unable to adapt and thrive as well as you have managed. Even so, I admit to being unsure over the appropriate reward for your efforts on my behalf.” He reached out a hand and placed one finger under her chin. A sharper smile slid over his mouth as he trailed his finger to the red collar around her neck. She trembled. He gave her an approving nod. “After long consideration, I have made a decision.”  
  
A soft grumbling sounded at their feet and irritation moved into Voldemort’s gaze. The irritation faded and a dark pleasure took its place. “Lucius, I believe you will find this reward most appropriate.” Voldemort lifted his wand, placing the tip at Hermione’s collar. Hermione went very still as Lucius drew in a sharp breath. “ _Candidus transfigure_.”  
  
The entire Coliseum broke into astonished whispers as Hermione’s collar turned snowy white. The Dark Lord had just given a mud blood the same status as a second-class citizen, one of the Tiro slaves. Although still a slave, she could own property in her own right. Any children she might bear would be free, the equal of any pureblood. If Lucius chose, he could now name her his consort – she could never be his wife, but she could achieve consort status and hold rank in the Wizarding world.  
  
Such a position for one of the mud bloods was unthinkable.  
  
Hermione’s hand rose and her fingertips brushed her collar. She blinked rapidly, brushing away the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. Lucius bowed. “My lord, your generosity is unparalleled.”  
  
“Indeed,” Voldemort agreed as the crowd burst into applause. “Do not waste my gift to you.”  
  
“Never, my lord.”  
  
Voldemort gestured them to return to their seats as the applause began to fade. He turned to the crowd once more. “As you can see, I can be quite generous when the situation calls for it. Let these Games be held up as proof of my desire for peace and harmony in our world. Faithful service will always be rewarded while rebellion shall be drowned in blood.” Raising his hands with a flourish, he commanded, “Let the Games continue!”  
  
The screens flickered to show a new crop of criminals being led to the center of the arena. Voldemort took his seat but shifted to face Lucius. “Your blood and her intelligence may provide you with a more suitable heir than this imbecilic child,” he said conversationally as he shook the chain attached to Draco’s neck. “He has yet to show a glimmer of your cunning or his mother’s ingenuity.”  
  
Lucius sighed. “He has proven to be quite a disappointment, my lord. One would think the blending of Malfoy and Black would have produced a better result.”  
  
“Cissy always was a weak little milk-maid,” Bellatrix scoffed as she joined the discussion. “A shame you didn’t try with Andi. The idiot woman made some stupid choices, but at least she had a backbone.”  
  
Voldemort grew contemplative. “Lucius, should you and your consort produce an heir, I believe I will reassign Draco. He is not proving to be the type of citizen I encourage.” One long finger tapped at his chin. “In fact, I shall make his demotion a gift upon the child’s birth. Your consort may choose his new status.” He laughed in a moment of wicked glee. “Do have her consider it, hmm?”  
  
“Of course, my lord,” Lucius replied, inclining his head in agreement despite the repressed flash of grief. Hermione placed her hand on his arm.  
  
“Good, good,” Voldemort replied, turning his attention back to the dueling on the arena floor. “I will await the announcement of such good news.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes moved over the other occupants of the box. Bellatrix gave her a superior, but accepting nod. Neither Neville nor Harry made any attempt to look at her; both remained in complete submission to their masters. Draco glared at her, his gaze a mix of hatred and terror. She held his fate in her hands, and that, she realized, was a more effective torture than most. He would worry and fret over when she might conceive and how long his days as a Tiro could be counted. Then he would have to wonder what class she would choose for him…what he would be forced to do or be in order to live.  
  
She hated to admit it, but a small thrill of amusement wormed into her mind at the idea of being the author of his destiny.  
  
Finally her eyes locked with Lucius’ gaze. A stew of emotions swirled in the silver depths – pride, joy, fear, grief. Voldemort’s gifts came with sharp edges of glass, ready to cut deeply even as they rewarded. Hermione was now as free as any mud blood could be, but Draco would be forever enslaved. Lucius obviously felt torn between the two of them.  
  
Hermione gave him a soft, gentle smile. She leaned forward and let a loving smile move over her face. Her voice was whisper-soft. “Are you happy?”  
  
One corner of his mouth curved upwards. “I will be,” he assured her in an equally quiet voice before a sensual light entered his gaze. “I look forward to working towards that day.”  
  
She sat back to face the Games once more as her smile deepened. With her new status as consort and the freedom of her future children practically assured, her life reached a new pinnacle. She could only marvel over how far she had come since the war and the original Day of Triumph. From a defeated enemy to the consort of one of the most powerful wizards in Britain…oh, yes, it was marvelous. Her heart swelled with joy and pride. She survived, yes, but even more, she _thrived_.  
  
The world might never remember Hermione Granger, the cleverest witch of her year, but it would never forget Hermione Tiro, the mud blood who climbed to be one of the highest ranking witches in Britain.


End file.
